


cloud nine

by asterismos



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Ambiguous Marriage Proposals That Aren't Really Marriage Proposals, Awkward Boners, Cuddling & Snuggling, Drunken Confessions, Drunken Flirting, Drunken Kissing, Drunken Lap Dance Offers, Drunken Shenanigans, Drunkenness, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Half-naked Cuddling, M/M, Morning Cuddles, Resolved Sexual Tension, Sexual Tension, Sleepy Cuddles, Teasing, The Author Regrets Nothing, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Yuri is a Tease
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-17
Updated: 2016-12-17
Packaged: 2018-09-09 06:57:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8880295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asterismos/pseuds/asterismos
Summary: It's two days before the Grand Prix, and Yuri has been practicing nonstop. Viktor knows he needs to get Yuri off the ice and may have an idea of how to do it.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Before people question any of the facts in this fic, let me clear up some of them because I started writing this right after episode 9. This year's GPF took place in Paris, so that's why this is in Paris as opposed to Barcelona.
> 
> Also, Tonkatsu Tombo is a real place but the bar with the Death Wish isn't real. And apparently French taxi drivers often dislike tourists and are rude to them? So I decided to include one mildly rude one. And since this was written before episode 10, I didn't know Yuri wasn't a lightweight when writing... So yeah. We'll have Yuri think he's a lightweight though he's really not.
> 
> Hover over the French to see the translations.
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

 

Yuri sighed as he skated back towards Viktor, wiping sweat off of his forehead with the back of his hand. He could tell that Viktor was a little worried about him; it was obvious that he was stressed. The Grand Prix Final was only two days away and, despite Viktor’s insistence that he should take a break, Yuri was training endlessly. He knew that it was a bit dangerous and reckless for him to keep practicing, given that he could get injured (and with the Grand Prix so close, that absolutely could _not_ happen), but he couldn’t think of anything else to relax himself. He didn’t know what else to do. He was _scared_. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d actually wanted to win a gold medal so bad.

“You should take a break,” Viktor said again as he handed Yuri his water bottle. Yuri shook his head, not bothering to say anything in response or try to convince Viktor to stop insisting. He wouldn’t stop. And neither would Yuri.

“Are you sure we shouldn’t add the quadruple flip to my free program?” Yuri asked. He had only landed it once in practice, and it wasn’t even a great landing. The only time he’d done it in competition was at the Cup of China, but he didn’t even land that one. But he knew that doing this jump, _landing_ it at the Grand Prix Final, would be incredible. And if he did everything else perfectly… Well, it would be a new personal best, probably.

“I’m sure. You can win without it.”

Yuri sighed again, his gaze drifting back over to the ice. He disagreed. He was already nervous _now_ ; how much more in two days? His nerves would get to him, and he’d flub his jumps. If he had that one in, he would be able to boost his score a bit. But Viktor was adamant. He didn’t want Yuri to try it until he could land it much more often, but they simply didn’t have enough time to find out if he could. It was one of the biggest things they disagreed on. Yuri was tempted to just do it anyway, and Viktor probably knew it.

“Why don’t we go get a pizza? You like pizza, don’t you, Yuri?” Viktor asked, taking Yuri’s hand before he could go off to skate again. Yuri hesitated, turning back towards Viktor, whose eyes were almost pleading. It seemed at this point, Viktor would do anything to get Yuri off the ice. But the longer Yuri hesitated, the more he was sure Viktor knew he was giving in.

“Maybe we can find a place that serves katsudon?” Viktor suggested. Yuri felt himself smile.

“Okay,” he relented, “okay, I’m sold.”

They decided to head back to their hotel, _Hotel & Spa La Belle Juliette_, to shower and get dressed. Both of them had been there since noon (Viktor skated for a grand total of two hours while Yuri had skated almost the entire time with occasional 20-minute breaks), and a shower was most definitely needed. Besides, the attire they'd gone to the skating rink in was "simply unacceptable for an evening stroll in Paris" (according to Viktor). So they packed up their stuff at the rink, thanked the staff profusely (well, Yuri did; Viktor was distracted by one staff member's iPhone case of him—all of them were just flattered to have two top skaters use their rink), and took a cab to _La Belle Juliette_.

Yuri vaguely wondered where Yurio was, as he knew that he and Yakov were also staying at _La Belle_ , but the inquiry faded as Viktor pulled him into an elevator. The ride up to their floor was silent but far from uncomfortable. He could hear Viktor humming quietly. Then the doors opened and they strode down the hall to their shared hotel room, where Yuri immediately made a bee-line for the restroom to take the first shower. He knew Viktor would be mildly annoyed by this; he liked taking showers first, but he took showers so long the water used could take California out of its drought.

Initially, Yuri had insisted that they choose a cheap hotel, but Viktor could sometimes be high-maintenance, and he'd wanted to stay at _La Belle Juliette_ even before he'd started coaching Yuri, so their compromise was to share a room. Neither of them minded this arrangement, if they were both being honest with themselves.

Yuri was done in minutes and cursed himself for not remembering to bring clothes into the restroom with him.

 _Viktor wouldn't mind_ , a voice told him as he wrapped a towel around his waist. He ignored that voice. It was most likely the same voice that told him to indulge himself in endless katsudon after competitions, whether he won or not. He most often elected to ignore this voice. Listening to it never brought him any good.

"Your turn, Viktor," Yuri called as he stepped out of the restroom. Viktor, fully naked (as he most often preferred to be), slipped behind him—Yuri _tried_ to focus on his reflection in the mirror—and into the restroom, pausing once to press a chaste kiss to his cheek as he passed. Then Viktor took the fastest shower Yuri had ever seen him take (only five minutes longer than Yuri's own ten minute shower) and was out and dressed before Yuri had even decided what to wear. He laid down on the single queen bed while Yuri stood in his boxers, indecisive about a stupid shirt.

"Viktor—"

"The blue one," Viktor said. "With your grey scarf and black jeans and that black coat you have but never wear."

Yuri turned to raise an eyebrow at him, but Viktor was lying on his stomach, facing away from him, and dialing a number on the hotel's telephone—probably to call the front desk. With a shrug to himself, he grabbed the clothes Viktor had listed and got dressed. Within a few minutes, they were at the front desk being reassured that the cab had been called.

Yuri didn’t know there was a place in Paris you could get pork cutlet bowls, but according to the cab driver, Tonkatsu Tombo had the best katsudon in the entire country. Apparently, there were a number of Japanese cuisines in Paris, though none of them came close to the quality of Tonkatsu Tombo. Yuri was more than a little worried about what the bill would be, though he knew Viktor couldn't care less.

Until he stepped outside of the hotel, Yuri didn’t understand why they were getting a cab instead of just walking since the restaurant was only a few minutes away from their hotel. But the instant he walked from the lobby’s front doors out onto the sidewalk, he jumped back into Viktor in surprise at the cold wind whipping his face. He wasn't expecting that. Viktor wrapped his arms around him from behind, chuckling, and they walked towards the cab together like that. They slid into the cab and were greeted by a small French man with the thickest possible.

" _Où sera-t-il?_ " he asked, turning in his seat to face the two of them. Viktor blinked, apparently not realizing that them being in France meant that they would encounter French people who spoke French.

"Uhh," Yuri started, his cheeks beginning to turn red. " _Parlez-vous anglais?_ "

The man seemed to grow annoyed and turned back in his seat. " _Oui_. Where to, _ monsieurs_?"

"Katsudon in Paris," Viktor jumped in. "What is the first thing that you think of?"

"That is easy," the man said, though it was hard to follow. No accent on television ever sounded this thick. "Tonkatsu Tombo has the best in Paris, though _I_ would say the whole of France."

Yuri glanced over at Viktor before saying, "Tonkatsu Tombo, _ s'il vous plaît_."

When they stepped out of the cab, they were once again met with the icy December chill. Viktor paid the cabbie, thanked him for the ride, and then met Yuri back at the sidewalk, which was filled with many people (many of them appearing to be tourists) milling about despite the cold. Yuri leaned into Viktor, hooking his arm around the other's. Together, they walked towards the small restaurant.

" _Bonjour_. Welcome to Tonkatsu Tombo," a hostess greeted them at the door. The French didn't clash as much with her Japanese accent as Yuri would have expected, rather, it flowed much better than Yuri's pronunciation of _any_ French word. "Please seat yourselves. A waiter will be with you shortly."

Yuri thanked her in Japanese before following Vitkor, who'd apparently chosen two seats at a long cushioned bench that stretched along one wall on the left side of the restaurant. They slid into their seats side-by-side so they were facing the rest of the restaurant and, instinctively, found the other's hand. It was a wordless movement and neither of them seemed to question it; it just seemed natural that they would casually hold hands and not think twice about it.

 _When had that happened?_ Yuri wondered. He couldn't pinpoint exactly when they had started holding hands like any other couple, but a lot had changed since Viktor had kissed him at the Cup of China.

Well, no, that wasn't entirely accurate. Nothing had actually changed. Neither of them acted any different after they kissed, aside from being more physically affectionate and more open about being physically affectionate. Rather, everything they had done before seemed to take on replenished meaning. A casual hand on Yuri's shoulder after practice felt more reassuring. The brush of their fingers on the other felt more teasing and alluring, like a sly game of tag. Any hug they shared felt far more intimate. Sleeping in the same bed together meant hours of lying awake next to each other, trying to decide how much was too much and if they might be overstepping boundaries.

"This restaurant is cute," Viktor said as they waited. Yuri, still partially distracted by his thoughts and Viktor's thumb running over his knuckles and the realization of exactly how close they were sitting, peered up to take in the atmosphere of the restaurant. The walls were white and most of the chairs were as well. Half of the furniture was made up of dark wood tables and chairs of a similar hue. The flooring was as black as the night sky outside. The bench they were sitting on was a lime green that wasn't exactly unpleasant, though it sat on the borderline between vomit and fresh lime. Yuri tried not to cringe. Thinking about vomit right before eating wouldn't do anyone any good.

But the restaurant _was_ pretty cute. A small business and not very busy, though Yuri suspected that had more to do with it being close to closing time than the quality of their food or service.

"I hope their pork cutlet bowls are as good as you are."

Yuri blushed and resisted the urge to hide behind his hands. He wished sometimes that Viktor didn't say that kind of thing when they were out in public or at a competition. The more time they spent together and the more their relationship grew, the more things like that had a _far_ less innocent effect on him.

A young woman approached the two of them. "Hello, I'm Haruko. I will be your server this evening. May I start you off with something to drink?"

"Water—"

"Do you serve rosé wine?" Viktor asked, cutting Yuri off.

"Yes, sir."

"We'll have one bottle of your best."

"Viktor!"

As Haruko scurried away, Viktor fixed a stern look on Yuri. "Yuri, you've been overworking yourself. You deserve a treat."

"Being here with you is already a treat," Yuri murmured, resting his head on Viktor's shoulder. He sighed. "But thank you."

"Of course, Yuri."

Haruko was back with their bottle and two wine glasses a few minutes later, beginning to pour their drinks as soon as she set their glasses down. "This is _Chivite Las Fincas Rosado 2015_ , one of the best rosé wines you will ever taste. Now, are you ready to order?"

"Yes," Viktor replied with a grin. "We will have two orders of katsudon, please."

"Will that be all?"

"Yes. Thank you."

An hour later, they were both finished with their meals and slightly tipsy (three full glasses for Viktor, four not-as-full glasses for Yuri). Viktor's cheeks were pink and his accent was somewhat thicker than normal as his words began to slur—a change so slight, it would have been unnoticeable to anyone who wasn't constantly around him. Yuri knew that his eyes were red because Viktor was teasing him about it and calling him a lightweight, even though he'd technically only had one less glass than Yuri did. Granted, Yuri had never been a heavy drinker. Even after doing well in competitions, katsudon had been his celebratory bottle of beer. He had no trouble admitting he was probably a lightweight, though, especially when it was a cute, also-tipsy, almost doe-eyed Viktor teasing him about it.

"We should go on a walk," Viktor announced suddenly, peering over Yuri's head, out the windows at the near-empty city streets.

"You're right," Yuri said.

"I am?" Viktor looked surprised.

"Yes. We should leave right now."

"Oh. Okay." Viktor called Haruko over. "Hello again. Are we allowed to pay now? I have a credit card. The number is—"

" _Viktor_."

"Yes," Haruko answered, ignoring Viktor's current lack of a filter with pellucid grace. "I will be right back with your bill." And, as promised, she was back within minutes. Viktor sloppily signed the paper, paid, left an abnormally large tip, and gave Haruko a hug. Yuri giggled before dragging Viktor out of the restaurant. They hooked arms again, stuffing their hands in their pockets in an attempt to keep them warm.

"We should go to the Eiffel Tower," Viktor said. "Did you know we're in the city of lights, Yuri? Paris is known as the city of lights."

"Yes, I know."

Neither of them really knowing where they were going and not caring enough to pay attention to street signs, they wandered the streets of Paris arm-in-arm, leaning into each other for warmth, content to be in the presence of the other. Old-fashioned lampposts lined the dimly-lit street they were on. It wasn't as busy as some of the others and most likely housed apartment buildings as opposed to shops and restaurants. Yuri laughed at absolutely nothing, glancing at Viktor through the corner of his eyes.

"What?" Viktor asked. He was smiling.

"Nothing," Yuri said, and it wasn't really nothing—they both seemed to know that without saying it—but what he was feeling right now couldn't put it into words. Nothing he felt around Viktor could ever be put into words. He expressed it all on the ice, and Viktor knew it. Part of him wished he could be back on the ice so he could tell Viktor, but he would rather be here right now. He wanted nothing more than to be with Viktor right now.

A few minutes later, Viktor was tugging Yuri towards the nearest building.

"What are you doing?" Yuri asked with a laugh.

"That sign says, 'Not even a Russian can handle our lager,’” Viktor responded, as if that explained everything. “I need to prove them wrong."

"Viktor!" Yuri chastised, but he followed behind him without a second's hesitation. Viktor strode into the bar with an air of confidence and competitivity. Yuri sat beside him, rubbing his hands together to try to create friction to keep them warm.

Viktor waved over one of the two bartenders, a person with a haircut similar to Viktor, with the ends dyed a dark red, who was almost an entire head shorter. They wore all black, except for neon green socks, and had several ear piercings but no tattoos.

“ _Quoi de neuf?_ ”

“Shit,” Viktor mumbled, forgetting _again_ that being in France meant encountering French people.

“ _Parlez-vous anglais?_ ” Yuri asked, grateful that he didn’t trip over the words or (completely) screw up the pronunciation. They smiled apologetically and waved over the other bartender, speaking in rushed French. Yuri knew very, very, _very_ little French, but he managed to catch “can’t,” “English,” and “tourists.” The other bartender, a burly man who was about Yuri’s height, strolled over to them.

“Yes?”

“I am Russian,” Viktor announced. The man raised an eyebrow. “I want three shots of your strongest liquor.”

The man laughed, big and hearty, before turning to his companion. “Get him the Death Wish.”

“ _Oui, monsieur._ ”

They nodded in response and rushed off to get Viktor’s drinks. Three shot glasses were placed in front of Viktor. As the man poured the drink (which came in an all-black, completely opaque bottle shaped similarly to a Jack Daniels bottle), he introduced himself. “I am Léandre. I have worked here for ten years, and only three people have been able to take the Death Wish and survive. None of them were Russian and all of them were at least twice your age.” He finished pouring and set the bottle down. “You, sir, have a death wish. _Amuse-toi bien_.”

Viktor didn’t seem to be the least bit swayed by Léandre’s monologue. He handed him his credit card to pay for the drinks, still surrounded by that air of confidence even as Léandre walked away to take care of his card. He took the first shot glass in his hand, slid the second glass over to Yuri (which he accepted), and met Yuri’s gaze. “Cheers.”

“I’m going to die,” Yuri muttered, picking up the glass and clanging it against Viktor’s. They threw their heads back at the same time and downed the drink. Immediately, they began coughing, though Viktor recovered much more quickly than Yuri did. “God—how can you drink that?”

“I am Russian,” Viktor replied with a shrug. He coughed again and peered down at the last glass. “Here, you take the last one. You deserve it.”

Yuri laughed. “You think I deserve a death wish?”

Viktor’s eyes widened and then he pouted. “You’re so mean to me. You know I didn’t mean that.”

“I know,” Yuri said with a laugh. He felt unusually giddy and his face was beginning to hurt from smiling so much, but he didn’t really mind. He just really wanted to touch Viktor’s hair. He wanted to run his hands through it and get tangled in it. He wanted to pull it. Yuri shook his head and grabbed the drink. He couldn’t get to thinking about this. Not here, not now. There were more pressing matters. He threw his head back and downed as much as the drink as he could.

Yuri could feel Viktor’s eyes on him as he swallowed, met his eyes as he set the glass down and licked his lips. Viktor followed the movement with his eyes. Yuri offered what he couldn’t finish (maybe a quarter of the glass) to Viktor, who took it without hesitation. Yuri didn’t even try not to stare at Viktor’s throat as he swallowed.

“It’s hot in here,” Viktor said. He still hadn’t taken his eyes off of Yuri.

“Let’s go,” Yuri replied. Viktor nodded enthusiastically and they almost forgot about getting Viktor’s credit card back until Léandre called them back. With a hurried thank you, they left the bar, stumbling over each other and trying to walk properly.

He was sure that they both looked ridiculous, but the part of him that normally would’ve cared and tried to stop them showed no resistance. He _didn’t_ care. For the first time in a long time, Yuri wasn’t thinking about what other people thought. He was thinking about Viktor’s arm slewn around his shoulders. He was thinking about the distinct smell of oncoming snow in the air. He was thinking about Viktor’s wholehearted laughter. He was thinking about his hand on Viktor’s hip and his heart racing with newfound adrenaline and his cheeks hurting from smiling so much. He was floating, walking among the clouds. And Viktor was with him. They were two guys on cloud nine somewhere on the streets of Paris.

“Oh my God!” Yuri exclaimed suddenly.

“What?”

“There’s a fountain,” Yuri whispered.

“A fountain?”

“I have to swim in it.”

“Wait, what?”

Yuri left Viktor’s side, stumbling his way towards the fountain. The square was blissfully empty, save for some cruising the nearby sidewalks. Yuri shed his beanie and his scarf, letting them fall to the floor, and then his outer coat, hanging it on a low-lying tree branch. As Yuri attempted to pull off his shirt, Viktor stumbled into him from behind, nearly sending them both to the ground. When they steadied themselves, Viktor wrapped his arms around Yuri and pressed a kissed to his jawline.

“Save it for the bedroom, my little pork cutlet bowl,” he murmured into his neck. “Now, put your coat back on. It’d be a shame if you got sick tomorrow.”

Yuri didn’t really want to put his clothes back on because that meant leaving Viktor’s arms, and he didn’t want to leave the fountain because the fountain was pretty, but after a pinky promise from Viktor that they could stay by the fountain and that Viktor would hold him again, he relented. The voice that he typically ignored (and usually with good reason) was now in overdrive, urging him to make the first move, pushing him to express emotions he hadn’t even realized were coming to light. And he wanted to ignore that voice. He really did. But he also maybe kind of sort of didn’t.

“Maybe we should go back to the hotel,” Viktor murmured, his lips brushing against Yuri’s neck as he spoke.

“Only if you keep holding me,” Yuri said. Viktor laughed, hot breath hitting his throat.

“Okay. But you have to promise to keep your clothes on—at least until we get to our room.”

Yuri nodded enthusiastically. “I can do that.” Then he turned slightly, a coy smile making its way to his lips as he placed a tentative hand high on Viktor’s thigh. He leaned in close so that their foreheads were touching, lips centimeters apart. “But can you?”

Viktor’s jaw dropped as Yuri stood and began to walk away, seeming to swing his hips like he _knew_ Viktor was watching. He rose to his feet and followed after Yuri with an ill-concealed smirk. He wrapped his arms around Yuri behind, pulling him back in hopes that he could keep him forever.

“Hey. You’re not getting away that easily, Yuri.”

Yuri turned in Viktor’s arms, his own finding their way around Viktor’s neck. “Viktor.”

“Yuri,” Viktor replied.

Yuri smiled up at him, peering through his eyelashes in a way that should _not_ be going straight to his crotch but _is_. Yuri’s arms slowly travelled downwards, onto Viktor’s chest, and then he gently pushed Viktor away from him, still smiling. He took Viktor’s hands into his own, rubbing slow circles on the back of them with his thumb. He wasn’t saying or even really doing anything, but he had Viktor completely enticed, unable to look away or move or speak. He was locked in place, under the spell that had enchanted Viktor when he'd first watched Yuri move to music—at the Grand Prix Final banquet last year, when his feelings for Yuri came to the surface for the very first time. It was also the day Viktor realized he was in love.

“Paris is also the city of love,” Yuri murmured, dropping Viktor’s hands. He sighed before glancing back up at Viktor. “I wouldn’t want to be here in Paris with anyone else but you.”

Viktor’s eyes widened slightly, his mouth falling open in surprise at the confession. He didn’t even allow himself time to muster up a decent response, though, before he pulled Yuri in for a kiss. It was quick—too quick, he was sure, for Yuri to even process—and chaste and barely there, and he was already pulling away before he himself could think about what he was doing. But Yuri was having none of that.

Yuri grabbed Viktor by the two lapels of his coat, pulling him impossibly close and meeting his lips halfway. Nothing about this kiss could be described as "chaste" or "barely there." Their bodies were flush against each other, separated only by the layers of clothes they were currently wearing. Yuri had taken full control of the kiss, guiding Viktor, who responded eagerly. One hand made it to Viktor's hair— _finally_. At the same time as he gently pulled Viktor's hair, he bit Viktor's bottom lip. Viktor gasped and suddenly pushed Yuri away, his lips glossy and already starting to bruise, cheeks flushed dark red, panting heavily. Yuri blinked up at him innocently, probably not intending to appear so, though it seemed like he did.

"Let's get back to the hotel," he paid breathlessly. Yuri smirked at him, took one step towards Viktor, and reached into his back pocket to pull out his cell phone.

"Call a cab," he said. His hand returned to Viktor's back pocket as soon as Viktor took the phone. Yuri clung to him as Viktor struggled to make the call for a cab ("I don't know where we are—the street sign says, er, Jer—Jais—um—yes! We need to get to _La Belle Juliette_ , but I wish I could go to the hot springs. Have you ever been to Hasetsu?")

Finally, they managed to get a cabbie out to them and made it to their hotel in one piece, though Yuri couldn't take his hands off of Viktor, couldn't stop touching him, for a second. They barely made it to their hotel room without getting each other naked, though they both lost their coats by the time they stepped into the elevator and their scarves and shoes before they’d stepped off. Yuri tugged Viktor in the direction of their hotel room, smiling the entire way. Viktor hurriedly tried his key, keen to get into the room as quickly as possible.

“What the hell?” Viktor said, trying not to get distracted by Yuri sucking a hickey onto his neck. Double-checking the room number, he realized they were on the wrong floor. “Yuri, we’re supposed to be on the fourth floor, not the third.”

“Oops,” Yuri replied. His lips met Viktor’s eagerly, effectively distracting him yet again. Reluctantly, Viktor pulled away, much to Yuri’s distaste.

“Come on. Let’s get to our floor first.”

But Yuri was insistent, the cold fingertips of his only free hand roaming under Viktor’s shirt, causing to him to shiver (for more reasons than just this one). Viktor let his eyes fall shut, savoring Yuri’s movements if only for a minute. Before either of them could become too carried away, Viktor caught Yuri's wrists and gently pushed Yuri away from him. He smiled at him. "Yuri."

"Viktor."

"Let's get to our floor." As they walked back towards the elevators, Viktor could hear Yuri mumbling something incoherent, sometimes slipping into unintelligible Japanese. "What was that?"

Yuri mumbled the words again, though it came out just as difficult to understand as before.

"Speak up, Yuri. I still can't hear you."

Without warning, Yuri shouted the next words, "I love Viktor Nikiforov!"

Viktor jumped in surprise and quickly turned to shush him, dimly-aware of how late it was, before his words sunk in. Viktor blushed from his cheeks all the way to the tips of his ears, not expecting the confession at all. His alcohol-addled mind urged him to return the words of affection, but something—a fraying knot—held him back. He smiled down at Yuri, wanting nothing more than to keep him in his life forever.

"Viktor is such a nice person," Yuri continued, stumbling past Viktor with a dazed, doe-eyed expression. Viktor followed after him, swinging his arms back and forth. "He agreed to be my coach, you know." Yuri slipped into more hard-to-follow Japanese, seemingly unaware that he was switching between Japanese (of which Viktor's knowledge was few and far between) and English. "I fell in love with him the first time I saw him skate. He is so pretty. I have so many posters of him."

"Really?" Viktor couldn't help but interject. He hadn't known that. He knew that Yuri had been one of his biggest fans, even as a fellow competitor, but _posters_? And he had mentioned being in love with him. Viktor wanted to inquire more about that, learn more about what Yuri had thought of him prior to their first meeting, but they found themselves standing in front of the elevator doors before he could. They dinged open. Viktor stepped in first.

Yuri let out an almost childlike gasp. "Viktor!"

Yuri threw himself into Viktor's arms as the elevator doors shut behind them, the older of the two only managing to hold them both steady thanks to the wall and railing behind him. "Viktor, I'm so glad you're here. I really, really, really like having you around. I want to dance with you. Can we go dancing? We should go. I could give you a lap dance, if you want. I've never given a lap dance before."

It took every bit of self-control in Viktor's body not to take Yuri up on the offer. Now was not the time for them to get horny. They hadn't even made it to their hotel room yet. Attempting to have sex (or even just give/receive a lap dance) in a hotel elevator was generally frowned upon by the majority of society. As much as he wanted to let Yuri have his way with him, this wasn't the kind of scandalous act he needed broadcasted on every media outlet on the planet. (He had to admit, however, that one locked-away part of his mind was excited by the idea...)

"Maybe another time, Yuri."

Yuri pouted in response, pulling away from Viktor for a fraction of a second to shoot him a brief look of disdain. Then he latched back onto Viktor, pressing him against the wall. "Please, Viktor?"

Once again, Yuri slipped back into Japanese but this time, the words were deliberate; Viktor caught every phrase, every syllable, every subtle fluctuation in Yuri's voice. Yuri pressed a hot, wet kiss to the beginning of Viktor's jawline then traveled down. Viktor tilted his head, his body giving way and allowing Yuri access to his bare skin. His willpower was fading. Yuri's hands found their way underneath the fabric of Viktor's shirt yet again, intently exploring the expanse of Viktor's torso.

A ding sounded and Yuri stepped away from Viktor, almost like he'd been expecting it. The elevator doors slid open. Viktor did his best to compose himself as he strode past the two flustered guests waiting in front of the elevators, dragging Yuri behind him. Yuri, for his part, appeared frustratingly smug and relaxed. Despite the air of self-control around him, his shirt was off before Viktor's was, long before they had made it to their room. By the time they did make it to their room, however, it was clear Yuri was exhausted. He sloppily crawled into bed, still wearing his jeans and shoes, and fell asleep the instant his entire body was on the bed. (His head never even touched the pillow.)

Viktor, still painfully hard, pulled off Yuri's shoes for him before detouring to the restroom. He showered as quickly as he could, taking care of his body in more ways than one, before reentering their shared hotel room in new boxers. Normally, he slept completely naked but as of late, he'd learned not to care about the feeling of wearing underwear while he slept. Besides, if sleeping in boxers meant he could sleep with Yuri, he wasn’t going to complain.

Viktor slid in beside Yuri, a content smile curling his lips as the half-asleep man threw an arm around his waist, spooning him from behind. He listened to the rhythm of Yuri's exhales as they deepened with slumber, gradually falling asleep to its gentle percussion.

 

Yuri heard a groan from beside him, the sound eliciting a similar one from him. His head pounded in a way he’d only experienced a couple of times before (and _definitely_ hadn’t enjoyed). He was almost scared to open his eyes. It could only mean more pain.

“You two are fucking idiots,” a voice said loudly. Involuntarily, Yuri’s eyes snapped open in shock, which he immediately regretted.

“Yurio?” he asked in surprise, cringing at the sound of his own voice. Viktor sat up beside him, causing Yuri’s hand to drop from his bare chest to… Yuri’s eyes widened and he snatched his arm back, blushing furiously. Then he realized he was also not wearing a shirt and his pants were undone.

_Why would Viktor have morning wood? Why were they even in the same bed?_

“You both got drunk off your asses. Some people complained about loud noises and yelling. Yakov sent me here to give you aspirin and water.”

_Loud noises and yelling?_

Yuri stole a glance at Viktor, who was in the middle of rubbing his eyes. His hair was adorably messy, though it always messy in the morning. Numerous hickeys littered his neck and the top of his chest, near his collarbone. His lips were bruised, a dark pink that stuck out noticeably against his pale skin (and also differed greatly from the soft rose hue his lips normally took on).

“I… I don’t even remember,” Yuri muttered as he struggled to recall last night’s events. How much had he had to drink? He could only vaguely call to mind the moments between when Viktor suggested they go out to get katsudon and when Viktor started dragging him to a bar or something. After that, things became fuzzy.

“You don’t remember?” Viktor asked. Yuri turned to him, surprised at the wounded tone of Viktor’s voice. Why did Viktor look like he’d just been told the worst news of his life? It’s not like he’d kicked Maccachin or refused his advice or something.

Yuri shrugged. “No, sorry. But…” His cheeks darkened as he recalled holding Viktor’s hand earlier in the night and buying him rosé wine and walking with him on the city streets. “From what I _can_ remember, I had a great time.”

Viktor smiled affectionately at him.

“You two are disgusting,” Yurio said, still speaking loudly, which had Yuri’s head pounding again. “You might as well get married.”

If it was at all possible for Yuri’s cheeks to get darker, they did in this moment. Viktor, despite his sleepy state, grinned and stuck his chin out defiantly. “Maybe we will.”

Yuri couldn’t recall ever blushing this hard before.

“Whatever,” Yurio snapped. “Everything you need is on that table. I’ll be on the fifth floor. You can call me if you need anything else. Yakov is making me offer. So don’t actually call me.”

He stormed out of the room. Yuri laughed, forgetting about his hangover for a moment, and turned to Viktor, who was also smiling. Without thinking about it, he scooted closer to Viktor and wrapped his arms around his torso, pulling him in for a hug. He buried his face into his neck. Viktor wordlessly returned the hug.

“Let’s go back to bed,” he said. He wished life had a pause button so he could stay in this spot a little longer, so he could put off the Grand Prix for a few days before reality set in and he had to start thinking about how Yuri would pay Viktor’s coaching fees and if he would really continue to be his coach. He wanted to cherish Viktor as much as possible while he still could.

Viktor allowed Yuri to pull him close, their legs tangling under the sheets. He pressed several kisses to Yuri’s face as he gently stroked his hair, like it was the most natural thing in the world. They both fell silent as they tried to ignore their hangovers and go to sleep.

“Did you know we’re in the city of love, Yuri?” Viktor whispered. “And there’s no one I’d rather be in Paris with than you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it(:
> 
> Feel free to leave comments or kudos or subscribe. I love and appreciate feedback.
> 
> All the love,  
> Cass


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